Get Me To The Kasha On Time

Kasha‘s been on my mind lately. That’s natural, since autumn’s almost here and the time for deep nutty things has come. Well of course to my mind it’s always the time for deep nutty things but when the air seems to hint at briskness and gray rains, I also want to eat deep nutty things. So kasha is the way to go. Kasha is made from buckwheat.

When I think of kasha I think of Jewish food – and this is for no good reason. But at some point in time the idea of kasha varnishkes entered my mind as a romantic sort of food (not that I’d ever eaten it, I hadn’t) and stuck there, along with the idea that being half-Jewish was a rather romantic thing to be. I’ve never been religiously Jewish (though I have been religiously romantic at times) but my father whom I met once and knew for a year or so was Jewish. So in my genetic half-Jewishness I imagine that in some way I have a deep longing for kasha varnishkes. What’s not to like? You’ve got kasha and you’ve got bowtie pasta – two good things! I should love this thing!!

I made kasha varnishkes once and it was an okay sort of experience. Actually it offered me about the same level of genetic religious sustenance in a romantic way as a bologna sandwich on Wonder Bread with yellow mustard gives my WASP side. How much is that? I don’t know. Are these things measurable?

I do love kasha as a breakfast cereal, though. Hot (oh god yes, I do microwave it rather than stand stirring over the damn stove) and drizzled with good honey and whole milk, kasha for breakfast is a nourishing thing, religious or not. I think somehow it actually is. Religious, that is. But let’s not give it a name, for some things are best left unspoken.

More on kasha.


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